


I Used to Dance

by janescott



Category: Adam Lambert RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Prostitution, Rare Pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-17
Updated: 2011-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-19 12:45:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For i_amthecosmos who kindly bid on me in the purple dove auction. Part of it came from this prompt on glam_kink: http://glam-kink.livejournal.com/664.html?thread=956312#t956312 The rest came from cosmos, who wanted hurt/comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Used to Dance

Adam locks his car, and curses at the rain, coming down heavy as he’s crossing the road.

He gets to the doorway of the building – an ornate, refurbished affair with a deep-set door. Muttering under his breath and shaking the rain off, he goes to key in his PIN when his foot nudges … something.

Looking down, he thinks – at first – that someone’s dumped a pile of rags. But when the pile of rags _moves_ he has to reassess. Adam steps back and watches as the bundle unfolds into … a person. He thinks.

It’s a pretty wretched specimen that he’s faced with – skinny; face flushed and the kid – at first sight he doesn’t look much over 16 or 17 – is soaked through.

“Sorry, mister. Just … getting out of the rain for a minute. I’ll … get out of your way.”

Adam glances out at the street where – if anything – the rain is coming down even harder, the gutters running high already. He turns back to the kid and his heart sinks when he realises he can see his shoulder blades, sharp through his too-thin shirt.

It’s not even a decision, really, even though Sutan is going to lecture him from here until Sunday about taking in strays – especially at work. Adam punches in the number for the door with a small smile on his face, because faced with exactly the same situation; Sutan would do the exact same thing.

He glances at his watch and makes a quick calculation. His first client isn’t due for a couple of hours, which is more than enough time to get the kid cleaned up, get some food into him, and maybe find a shelter or something to take him in.

“Come on, kid.”

The kid blinks, his eyes looking huge in his thin face. “Uh, what? I mean, mister, I don’t – I mean, you don’t know me. I could be, like, a burglar or something.”

“Are you? A burglar or something, I mean,” Adam says, amused.

“I, uh, no. Just … your average homeless guy looking for shelter from the rain.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because shelter is all I’m offering. Maybe find you some dry clothes, get you something to eat. That’s … about all.”

Wary, and with eyes that look far too old for him, the kid still doesn’t move. “But … why? I mean, what – what do you want, because mister I don’t – ”

Adam stills and bites his lip, wondering who put that look in the kid’s eyes. He loves his own job; loves meeting clients, loves the fact that he earns enough to live the kind of life he’s always wanted. His cushion is large and comfortable.

This kid … his cushion is his bony ass, and his sense of self-preservation.

“Honey,” Adam says, gently as he can. “I really don’t want anything from you, okay? I know it’s hard to believe, but sometimes people really are nice, just to be … nice. Dry clothes. Food. Out of the rain and off the streets for a couple of hours. It’s up to you.”

The kid looks at the door, and looks at Adam again, his posture tense and his eyes still wary. Suddenly he seems to make up his mind, and darts past Adam into the foyer – just in time for Sutan to come out of his ground floor apartment.

He looks from Adam to the kid and back again, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Aren’t you past picking people up from the streets, Adam? Little … hobo-looking, even for you.”

Adam gives Sutan the finger and rolls his eyes. “And fuck you, too. I’m just helping the kid out. It’s pissing down rain out there and he’s soaked.”  
“Taylor.”

Both Sutan and Adam jump a little and turn to look at the kid, who’s folded his arms across his chest, looking defensive and like he’s about to bolt.

“My name is Taylor,” he repeats, looking from one to the other. “Figure if you’re gonna talk about me like I’m not here, then you should know who you’re talking about.”

“Sorry. _Taylor_ here is soaked and has nowhere to go. I’m – I don’t know. Working out my karma? Will you believe that?”

Sutan looks from Adam to Taylor and rolls his eyes, sighing. He owns the building where Adam and a select few others work, taking a slice of their earnings in lieu of rent.

"Okay, fine, go play good Samaritan. Just … be careful.”

Adam points Taylor towards the elevator and blows a kiss back to Sutan.

“When am I not careful?”

Sutan leans against his door frame, his eyes dropping involuntarily to Adam’s ass, which is always noteworthy, even under the weirdest circumstances.

“Every day,” he mutters to himself.

Adam glances back over his shoulder and throws Sutan a wink, before pressing the elevator button, the kid – Taylor – a miserable, wet bundle beside him.

The silence in the elevator is awkward and Adam's grateful that the building only has four floors.

"Here we are, kid," he says, stepping back so Taylor can walk out of the elevator first.

"I'm 20."

"Sorry?" Adam asks, distracted as he sorts through his keys.

"I’m 20," Taylor says, again. "I told you my name, and I just thought - if it'd get you to stop calling me kid ..."

Adam turns as he opens the door. Claws, he thinks. Well, huh. "Sorry. Come on in. Welcome to my world."

Adam's world, it turns out, is ornate. Everything in the large apartment - which takes up the whole top floor, Adam tells him, tossing his keys on a small table by the door – is elaborate and luxurious.

Taylor hovers, staring at the large, plush couches, heavy velvet curtains and digging his feet into the thick pile of the carpet.

"So ... you ... work here?"

Adam takes off his jacket and hangs it closet near the door. "Yes, I do. And before you ask, or try to guess, I work as an escort. A high-paid one, obviously," he says, his mouth quirking up into a smirk.

Taylor opens his mouth, closes it again. "Oh. Okay, I, uh - "

"It's okay. It's not your standard job, but I like it. And I'm good at it," Adam says with a quick wink. Taylor just stares at him, his mouth open.

"Clothes and food, yes?" Adam says, gently tapping Taylor's chin until his mouth closes.

Taylor shakes his head and blinks, like he's trying to wake up from a dream. "Um. Yeah. I mean. Thanks. Yeah." He laughs nervously and runs a hand through his hair, scattering raindrops.

"Oh - man, I'm sorry about that. I -"

 _"How about a shower, too?" Adam says, striding to the other end of the large lounge, not looking back to see if Taylor's following._

Shower. Hot food. Clean clothes. Taylor tries to remember the last time he had all three of those things at the same time - let alone _one_. Shaking himself again, he starts moving; following in Adam's wake.

He's a little nervous, because in his experience, people don't just do nice things for the sake of it - there's always some kind of payoff. But Adam seems like a decent guy, and he's hot, with long, long legs, a lean torso, strong-looking arms and a compelling face with inviting eyes and an even more inviting mouth. It wouldn't be that big of a deal to thank him in some way ...

Taylor reaches the bathroom and stops and stares again. He has an overwhelming impression of large, and white, and gold. There's citrus-scented steam billowing from the shower, and oh god the room is _warm_. Taylor's mouth drops open and he's half-ready to get on his knees right now because payback or not, this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him.

Adam hands him a small pile of towels and says, "Here. I should have some clothes around that'll fit. Take your time - there's plenty of hot water."

"I - thank you," Taylor says, suddenly feeling shy. Adam just smiles and pats him on the shoulder as he goes past.

Taylor strips his filthy, wet clothes off as fast as he can, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror. Once, he had a dancer's body, and a real shot at making it. One mistake; one transgression with the wrong person, and he'd found himself fighting for his life every day, and giving blow jobs in back alleys just to survive.

Sighing, Taylor looks around the bathroom again. Whatever Adam did to get here - to have _this_ and feel no regret or shame ... Taylor swallows the sting of envy and steps under the water.

He stays under for more than half an hour, scrubbing every last sign of the street from his hair and skin. He doesn't feel clean all the way through, wonders if he ever will, but he figures it's a start. Switching the shower off, Taylor grabs one of the towels and wraps it around himself, almost moaning at the feel of the soft cotton against his skin.

He jumps when Adam knocks on the door, calling out: "You decent in there?"

"I, um. Yes? I mean, sure. C-come in."

Adam pushes the door open, and comes into the bathroom carrying a small bundle.

"Here, I think these will fit you. They'll be warmer, anyway. I'll ... burn those for you," he says, nudging the pathetic, dirty pile on the floor.

"Thank you," Taylor says, taking the bundle from Adam's hands. He can see jeans, a jersey, maybe a couple of t-shirts, some other things. He tries not to think about the last time he had anything that wasn’t stolen from a clothing bin outside a Salvation Army store.

He’s not sure he can remember. He carefully puts the clothes on the massive marble counter and absently strokes his hand over the soft cotton of the jeans folded neatly on the top of the pile.

Adam leans back on the bathroom counter, and Taylor sighs, bracing himself for what he's sure is coming next. It's not that he minds, really, because Adam's one hundred percent hotter than any guy who's called Taylor pretty in a stinking alley before digging fingers into his shoulders and forcing him to his knees. And, of course, the surroundings are a lot more conducive to -

"Do you want me to go?" Adam's voice, soft and almost gentle, breaks through Taylor's reverie. He realises he's clutching the towel like a shield.

"I'm sorry. It's just - I'm not used to people being nice to me without wanting ... something."

Adam moves until he's standing in front of Taylor and oh, he's tall, Taylor thinks irrelevantly. He tilts his head up and finds himself looking into Adam's eyes – a deep blue in the mellow, muted light of the bathroom. Adam rests his hand along Taylor's cheek.

"How about I give you something instead?"

"I don't - you've already - you took me into your, uh, home, and gave me clothes, and what - oh."

Taylor gropes blindly for the bathroom counter behind him, clutching on to it for dear life as Adam drops to his knees, as graceful as any dancer Taylor's seen. Adam reaches for the towel, his eyebrows raised in a silent question. Taylor nods, and the towel is gone, dropping to the floor in a silent fall of white./p>

He flushes when he looks down at his body - he can count his ribs, his stomach actually curves _inwards_ and he has scars scattered here and there. His dick, though, is on board with Adam's plan. It swells and thickens as Adam licks up the length, once, making a lazy path with his tongue.

Taylor grips the marble behind him so hard he's pretty sure he's going to leave deep marks on his hands. He bites back a moan as Adam swallows his whole length, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks. Taylor can't stop a small, tight groan escaping and he risks letting go of the counter with one hand to trace the stretch of Adam's lips around his cock. He touches the freckles he can see there, feeling half-dazed.

Adam's still for a moment, gazing up at him from those impossibly blue eyes; black-lined and wide, and then he closes his eyes, starts to move his head, and everything is _perfect_.

Taylor doesn't remember the last time he was on the receiving end, and he doesn't know whether to close his own eyes to try and make it last, or to watch Adam's face, and the way he moves his mouth, and the feeling of his tongue, hot and wet against Taylor's cock.

He reaches out with his hand again, touching Adam's shoulder this time, tracing over the dense scatter of freckles there with one finger, his eyes fixed on Adam's face because, in the end, if this is the only good memory he's going to have for a while, then he wants to remember every detail.

It doesn't take long, in the end. Taylor has one hand tangled in Adam's hair, the other still gripping the counter as he comes on a shout he bites down on, needing the pain that floods his mouth as a marker for this moment in time.

He's breathing, hard, his heart racing. He watches, still half-dazed and feeling slightly detached as Adam stands, reaching out to rub Taylor's arm.

"All right?" he asks, as calm as if he hasn't just had Taylor's dick halfway down his throat.

"I. Uh. Yeah. I'm - okay. I should, uh -" he gestures vaguely at the clothes, still in a neat pile on the other side of the vast counter. "I mean, unless you want me to -" but Adam's already shaking his head, before Taylor can finish.

"No, honey, that's okay. That was ... for you. I'll go and see what food I have in the place, then I want you to go down and see Sutan, okay? I think he's got somewhere for you to stay."

Taylor blinks, suddenly overwhelmed. In three years, no one's been this nice to him, and he's not sure how to handle it. He gets dressed on auto-pilot, vaguely realising that Adam's also left him socks, and new shoes - sneakers. They feel weird on his feet, and if they don't get stolen they won't look new for long, but he wriggles his toes in appreciation.

Half an hour later, his stomach full, a piece of paper clutched in his hand, a few bucks burning a hole in his pocket, he's back out on the street again; still wet even though the rain has stopped. He's got Adam's number on a scrap of paper - "just in case," Adam says, but he doesn't say just in case of what.

Around the corner, and a few blocks down; Taylor's in familiar territory. He knows where the halfway house is, but not that that's what the old, tumbledown building is.

 

He hovers, indecisive, waiting for the crosswalk sign to change. As he's about to step off the kerb, a car pulls up and a window lowers. Peering into the car, Taylor recognises one of his back-alley regulars.

 

"Hey sugar," the guy says, leaning over the seat, his too-white teeth gleaming and his beer-belly straining over his belt. "Need a ride?"

 

Taylor pauses, watching as the light switches to red again.


End file.
